


i'm a free agent, sweetheart

by viridae



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternative Universe - FBI, Banter, Flirting, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24138097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viridae/pseuds/viridae
Summary: Andrew Minyard is just trying to have a peaceful night out as an undercover FBI operative. Of course, Neil Josten isn't going to let that happen.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 21
Kudos: 328





	i'm a free agent, sweetheart

**Author's Note:**

> response to the prompt "you know what? you're not so bad." please enjoy!

Everything was going great until Nathaniel Wesninski showed up. 

Great being the operative word-- nothing Andrew Minyard does with the FBI can ever be considered “great.” But for the last hour and a half, things had certainly been going well, only for Nathaniel to ruin them.

The night had bloomed quiet and tense over the Las Vegas Strip. Andrew’s still feeling uneasy at the speed with which the mission took place; one moment he was driving through the Nevada desert, peacefully using his paid time off and ignoring the increasingly frantic FBI calls, and the next minute he was sent on an emergency stakeout mission.

The FBI unit in Vegas had intercepted a message between two of the biggest crime families in the United States, about a meeting that would take place in a back room of the Venetian in an hour. Andrew had been the only easily accessible agent in reach with practice as being undercover. 

His instructions were simple: stay silent and supervise. He’s meant to be their eyes, not their voice. Nothing about it is inherently unfamiliar to him; Andrew’s used to staying silent on missions. He tends to function better as a scout. His perceptiveness and keen eye for details had marked him as a reliable undercover agent when he first joined the agency. Some people are skilled and patient enough to craft new identities and make pleasant conversation with people, good at coercing answers out of others. Andrew isn’t one of those people. He’s better at watching from the sidelines as backup. 

There’s still a feeling that something is  _ off,  _ though _ :  _ the urgency, the coincidental timing, and even the fact that Andrew has to be in Las Vegas when he hates the city. He also had to pass through a metal detector in order to get to the VIP lounge, leaving his armbands and holster empty. Not having a weapon at his side feels like another one of his defenses down. 

For the last hour and a half, he’s been playing poker at a private table on the FBI’s dime, quietly amassing a stack of chips. Through his earpiece, Kevin’s been feeding him information from the security cameras about who is entering the casino. He’s been keeping his eyes on the cards, and his ears open, and then Day’s voice crackles through his earpiece and everything starts going wrong.

“Ten o’clock,” he says. “Nathaniel Wesninski.” 

It takes most of Andrew’s self control not to immediately snap his head up and locate the man. Any time Nathaniel shows up, everything goes to shit. 

It’s not  _ entirely _ Nathaniel’s fault, though Andrew would never admit that. He has a weakness for dramatic, unfairly pretty boys in suits. 

Even though Andrew’s not looking at him, he’s acutely aware of Nathaniel’s presence. Nathaniel prowls the length of the room before slinking his way towards Andrew’s table. Resigned, Andrew folds his hand, and feels the chair next to him slide out. 

Nathaniel settles into the seat next to him. Andrew, determinedly, does not look up from his cards or acknowledge his appearance.

“Well,” Nathaniel hums. “Fancy seeing Special Agent Andrew Minyard here.” 

His accent is British this time, a far cry from the broadly middle American one he used last time they met. It’s sultry, low and teasing, and Andrew says nothing, refusing to let the man get under his skin again. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Nathaniel says. He slides two chips from Andrew’s pile into the center, his fingers slim and distracting. “I was starting to miss you.”

“I’m sure you were,” Andrew says blandly. “I’m also sure you say that to every agent you see.”

Kevin makes an affronted noise in his ear, and hisses, “Do not engage.” 

Andrew, pointedly, does not listen.

Nathaniel mock-pouts at him. “Have some faith, Minyard.”

“I’ll have it when I see it.” 

“Well, I didn’t miss your attitude.” 

“Isn’t that what makes you like me so much?”

“Mm,” Nathaniel purrs, his tone far too suggestive for Andrew’s liking. “It’s  _ one  _ of the things.”

Andrew finally looks toward him. Tonight he’s in a fitted tuxedo, carefully tailored to every line of his body, his hair dark. He has brown contacts, swamping his regular blue, a cheap but effective design. Nathaniel looks like he could blend in easily into the crowd of wealthy socialites without a trace. 

Andrew scowls, realizing he’s been looking at Nathaniel for far too long, and turns his attention back to his cards. His job right now is to keep an eye on the meeting about to happen. This is  _ not  _ going to be a repeat of that disastrous mission in Moscow. 

“Tell me,” Andrew says, “What name are you going by tonight?” 

Nathaniel considers it for a moment, tapping his temple as if in deep thought, and smirks. “Let’s go with Neil Josten.” 

“Well,  _ Neil Josten, _ ” Andrew says, “I’m not here to flirt. I’m here on official work business.” Immediately after the words leave his mouth, he hates that Neil’s managed to coax an answer out of him. 

“Last time I checked, this meeting wasn’t common knowledge.” 

“Maybe you should be safer with your messages,” Andrew mutters. 

“ _ Andrew _ ,” Kevin implores. “Stop talking.” 

Andrew definitely does not listen. 

“Maybe there’s a mole,” Neil offers conversationally. “That would make tonight interesting, wouldn’t it?” 

“I thought only the Hatfords and Moriyamas were involved tonight.” 

Neil’s expression is smug, and Andrew realizes that he just eked another answer out of Andrew. “Of course.” 

Andrew scowls. “Do you ever stop talking?”

Neil grins at him slyly. “Only when my mouth is otherwise occupied.” 

“Stop it,” Andrew snaps, annoyed. “You’re too distracting for your own good.”

Neil shrugs elegantly. “Not much else to do around here. I’m just watching the proceedings, same as you.”

“So,  _ Neil,”  _ Andrew presses nonchalantly, “Are you a Hatford or a Wesninski tonight?”

Neil grins loosely and leans back in his chair. “Let’s say I’m a free agent, sweetheart.” 

Andrew tries not to let his gaze wander over the long, appealing lines of Neil’s body and fails spectacularly. Neil raises an eyebrow coolly, and Andrew forcibly looks back to the new cards he’s been dealt.

Neil takes the silence in stride, and lounges back in his chair further. That suit accents every inch of his body, and Andrew is finding it increasingly difficult to pay attention to the game. This is what he hates most about Neil Josten-- he knows exactly how to get under Andrew’s skin and does it with relative ease. His flirting is endlessly irritating, and Andrew hates that he would most definitely like to take the man apart one piece at a time. 

Inwardly, he sighs despairingly. Why do his missions always go wrong? 

The dealer starts another round as players drop out, and both Neil and Andrew get dealt their two cards. Andrew’s not an expert at poker, but it would take an excellent player to have a chance at beating him. The game progresses smoothly, players folding on nearly every turn, until it’s just Andrew, Nathaniel, and another player betting. 

The last thirty minutes have been so uneventful, Andrew almost starts to think that this night could have a chance at going well. 

And then--

“Shit,” Kevin swears. Andrew keeps his composure, though Neil gives him a cool, assessing glance. “You have Moriyama men, at five and seven. Riko’s at two o’clock.” 

This time, Andrew takes a moment to reassess his surroundings, eyes flashing up briefly to indeed see Riko to his right, on the upper balcony ringing around the room. His brow furrows slightly. It’s strange that the Moriyamas would send a second son for a meeting like this, it’s always been someone from the main branch before. The strange occurrence sets Andrew’s teeth on edge. 

He scans over Riko’s figure, looking for signs of anything unusual. His suit looks oddly bulky, almost as if-- 

Andrew realizes in a flash. He’s wearing a bulletproof vest. And so are two of his right hand men. 

Neil’s eyes follow his gaze, intrigued, and Andrew can see the exact moment they widen in realization. 

“You don’t think,” Neil murmurs, his voice low, “that maybe we both had moles?” 

“That would certainly make this interesting,” Andrew echoes, and they both fold their hands, one after the other. The winner collects their chips, eyes flashing between the two of them, though he tries his best to hide it. Now that Andrew’s on high alert, he sees everyone acting suspiciously-- even the dealer’s eyes are darting from Andrew to Neil, trying to pretend like she’s not watching them. 

It could be his paranoid instincts, but… 

“I think we should leave,” Neil says quietly. “There’s men at my nine.”

“There’s more at my five and seven.” 

Neil’s smart enough not to immediately whip his head around and stare, but he cuts it pretty close. “Fuck,” he mutters, his composure slipping slightly. “A set up?”

“With both of us in the same place?”

“Moscow all over again,” Neil agrees. 

“Get out of there,” Kevin says suddenly, haltingly. “Andrew, it’s not safe.”

“Let’s go,” Andrew says curtly, standing up. He begins slipping through the crowd, eyes finding the nearest exit unerringly. He trusts Kevin’s intuition more than almost anything, and Neil is a few steps behind him, matching his pace-- and that’s when the bomb goes off.

It takes a few moments for the ringing in Andrew’s ears to subside, and another few for him to recognize the pop of gunshots. Chunks of marble are blown across the room, and dust hangs thick and heavy in the air. The blast blew the poker table they were playing at on it’s side, briefly sheltering him and Neil from the shooters. If they had moved thirty seconds later, both he and Neil would be a mess of blood and guts on the floor.

Andrew hears his earpiece sparking, and taps at it frustratingly. It’s blown out. 

“Of fucking course,” he growls, and darts behind a pillar. Neil’s slumped haphazardly next to him, still vaguely out of it, and Andrew grits his teeth before dragging Neil next to him.

“Get up,” Andrew says, and kicks him in the side. “We don’t have time for this.”

Neil winces, pressing a hand to his skull. His eyes are strangely dilated, and Andrew knows he’s going to have an awful headache the next day. “And here I thought you cared about me.”

“We were set up,” Andrew says. 

“Shocking,” Neil says sarcastically. “Who would want to kill both of us at once?”

Andrew scowls. “You have a gun?”

Neil draws a revolver from inside his suit, somehow having slipped it through the metal detectors-- that, or he has contacts on the inside. “Don’t I always, darling?” 

Andrew huffs. Fine, then. That’s how they’re doing it. 

“Clear me a path,” Andrew says, and Neil nods. Andrew steels himself for a moment, before darting from their pillar to another overturned poker table. The dust and debris in the air is making it easy to move positions, but as soon as it fades, they’ll be sitting ducks. Andrew doesn’t know when backup will arrive; hopefully not long, but there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach that it won’t be fast enough.

“Got any other weapons on you, wonder boy?” Andrew says when Neil joins him a moment later. “Amaze me.” 

Neil grins, and Andrew hates that devilish look on his face. “You know me, baby.” 

“Stop being insufferable and help me find a way out.” 

“Fine,” Neil sighs. “Our best bet would be the back door. It’ll lead out to the parking garage.”

“I have keys to a car there,” Andrew said. “If you can get us there, I can get us out.” 

Neil slips something out from his suit pocket-- where the  _ fuck  _ is he keeping all of these items in that slim cut-- and passes it to Andrew. It’s a grenade, and Andrew hooks his finger through the pin in preparation. Neil scans the room, apparently finding the best place to throw it, and crooks his finger at Andrew. 

“Toss it on my count,” Neil says sharply. There’s an invisible clock ticking down, and Andrew yanks the pin out just in time for Neil to say “ _ Now!” _

Andrew throws the grenade right at the center, his aim impeccable, and ducks behind the pillar to shelter himself. The blast sends more shrapnel flying across the room. A few shards of metal shred the fabric of his suit jacket, and Andrew can feel the stinging ache of cuts on his arm. There’s no response from Neil. The entire world is watery and slow moving, and even gunshots seem slowed. 

It seems to take forever, but Neil emerges out of a cloud of dust, coughing, his nose bleeding, and Andrew’s traitorous heart leaps in relief. 

“Go,” Neil says, his voice muffled through the ringing in Andrew’s ears, and then louder, “Andrew, let’s go!” 

Across the room, men are still recovering from the grenade, and it gives Andrew and Neil the chance to reassess their escape chances. Everything still sounds like he’s hearing it from underwater, and Andrew is logical enough to worry that the grenade might have ruptured an eardrum.

Regardless, Andrew swears and starts running, following Neil. There’s burning debris scattered around the room, making him watch every step. They burst through the backdoor, the night air freezing. Smoke billows from behind them, and there’s indistinct shouting in Japanese. A gunshot dings off the bumper of a car next to them. 

Andrew directs them towards a low, sleek sports car. It’s one of his favorite cars, and he really hopes that it doesn't get damaged while they’re driving away. 

“You know what?” Neil says, panting as they run, “You’re not so bad.” 

Andrew huffs. “This was all you,” he declares.

“Oh, yeah, because they don’t care about the Feds at all,” Neil says, sliding into the passenger seat. “You going to drive now or what, sweetheart?”

“Sorry, babe,” Andrew grits out. “It’s a little difficult when there are people shooting at you.” 

“Whatever you say, darling,” Neil simpers. 

Andrew finally gets the key in the ignition and revs the engine. Tires squeal as he peels out of the parking lot, and once you put Andrew Minyard behind the wheel of a car, there’s no catching him. 

There’s breathless silence between the two of them for a minute once they speed past any danger and make their way onto a wide, quiet stretch of highway. The golden, neon lights of Vegas flash behind them in a hazy glow. Andrew watches the speedometer tick up until the car is practically flying. 

“I am never doing this again,” he says firmly. Even though the adrenaline rush is almost bringing a grin to his face, that was too close a call. He’s sure Kevin is back at the office, panicking, and Andrew can barely imagine the disarray the unit is in right now.

Neil, on the other hand, grins haphazardly and kicks his feet up on the dash. Curse his damning good looks and awful, attractive attitude and everything about him. 

“Sure thing, babe. Sure thing.” 

**Author's Note:**

> will i ever write something that's not an fbi au or a high school au? who knows?  
> also, leave kudos/comments if you liked this, it's really wonderful to hear ppl's thoughts <3


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